Four Times Leslie & Ben Use Their Couch and One Time They Don't
by ladyknope
Summary: set in the future. Leslie/Ben. title says it all: just fluff and more fluff.


"Hey, at least you're finally sick on sick day."

He feels Leslie groan against his thigh and presses his fingers at her neck just to triple check she doesn't have a fever. Yes it's a small consolation to the nausea she feels, but he thought it'd make her feel a little bit better at least. But her eyes remain closed, her head still where it rests against his hip. He pulls the blanket up around her shoulder where it's fallen in the crack of the couch some. He tickles his fingers over her forearm in a way he knows she likes and feels her shiver.

"You sure you don't want to go upstairs?"

"Don't wanna move."

"I could carry you."

She hums a laugh at that.

"I could- and I have actually," he winces slightly "okay maybe I tripped a little, but I recovered."

She turns her head a few degrees, just enough to peer up at him.

"I don't know, I kind of like being here. When I was younger I always wanted to sleep on the couch, in case I couldn't sleep then I could watch TV or have easy access to all my puzzles. But my mom never let me, except when I was home from school sick." She shrugs and turns back to the rerun _of Law and Order_ that's playing. He plays with the ends of her hair, brushes his hand down her side, lingers over her stomach.

"So does that mean you're staying home from work?"

"No way, Jose."

He smiles.

They're quiet for a while, just watching with finger tips intertwined. When she starts explaining the significance of this case to Elliot and Olivia's relationship, he's glad she's at least taking this Saturday off to rest with him.

/

It wasn't so much the texts but their eventual petering out that caused Leslie to panic. Panic might be an exaggeration. Her heart rate might have raised a few beats per minute, the rate of her typing even more so. (Sometimes there just wasn't time to unsplit all the infinitives in her initial proposal drafts, although they rarely split in the first place). She knew if something was seriously wrong there would be phone calls, not just abbreviated observations of what's she's sure is a padded version of the truth.

_she's ok. 101 but not getting higher_.

_might try a bath now_

And the last text sent an hour ago:

_we're tired but not sleeping, wonder where she got that from_

Humor does nothing to placate her, especially since he included himself in that statement, intentionally or not. And although Ben was never been one for excessive punctuation or a frequent user of emojis (she downloaded the app for him and everything), she still leaves work an hour earlier than she normally would on a busy day like today. Nothing about hearing the soft whimpering of her daughter as she enters their house eases her anxiety.

She kicks her heels off and walks slowly to where Ben and Maggie are resting on the couch. Ben's lying on his back as Maggie rests on his chest, her little legs on either side of his thigh. Both their eyes are closed, but Ben's rubbing his hand slowly up and down her back under the same pajama shirt from this morning. She hears the familiar end of _Finding Nemo_ coming softly from the TV speakers, although she seems to be the only one paying attention. As she approaches the couch, Maggie opens her red rimmed eyes slightly but otherwise remains unmoving. The stillness of this moment, the first time she sees her daughter after a long day of work and she sees her mom after a long day without her, is maybe what takes her one level closer to panic. The usual cacophony of storytelling and her characteristic bounce replaced by mewling and sniffles.

"Hi, sweetheart," Leslie whispers as she places her hand first over Ben's on Maggie's back, giving it a squeeze, and then moves to comb her fingers through her sweaty hair line.

"How are you feeling?"

"It hurts, Momma."

"I know baby, I'm sorry." Leslie moves to kiss her daughter's forehead, then her husband's. He opens his eyes finally, the fatigue of a day spent with a sick 2 and half year old evident in his eyes. She tilts his chin up slightly, presses her lips firmly to his once before kneeling back down. His eyes are closed again before her knees even touch the ground, his hand still rubbing soothing circles.

"You want Mommy to put you to bed now?" Leslie asks as she holds her hands out. Maggie nods her head slightly as she tries to reach her hands up. Leslie lifts her dead weight into her arms, her head automatically nestling into the soft skin of her shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around her neck. She walks her upstairs and heads to her bedroom, leaving Ben more than half asleep on the couch. She turns to enter Maggie's bedroom, but she starts to cry fiercely.

"Wanna go.. you bed."

"You wanna sleep in Mommy and Daddy's bed?" Leslie asks after a moment of trying to discern a meaning from a sentence of half crying, half baby talk. She feels a head bob up and down against her shoulder and turns back to her and Ben's bedroom.

_come to bed now_

She texts Ben after lying her daughter on one of their pillows and getting dressed for bed. It's early for her, but she never turns down the chance to cuddle, even if she knows she'll lie awake for a long time doing so. They've just snuggled under the covers, a little arm wends around her neck, Leslie's palm flat against her back to keep their bodies close together, when she feels more than hears Ben come into the room. He slips under the covers next to her wordlessly.

"Careful" she whispers, guiding his hand lower on her stomach before he can disturb their already asleep daughter.

"She asleep?" He asks into the back of her neck, his nose pressing there, swiping at her hair as he places a gentle kiss on her pulse, lingering slightly with the want of missing her.

"Yeah," Leslie interlocks her hand with Ben's and smooths it up her abdomen to lie on the top of her bump "this guy however, is wide awake."

They both wait silently until they feel a kick under her skin. Ben chuckles, exhaustion seeping through his lungs and out of his throat in the form of a horse hum that somehow always feels both sexy and comforting when it lands at the base of her neck. Leaving their hands still, Leslie feels Ben's thumb move back and forth the way it sometimes does when they hold hands palm to palm.

"I told you, too much whipped cream."

"Never."

This, the taking care of her, the comforting, of them, is what gives her heart this funny mixture of being anchored and weightless, tethered and light. He takes care of a fussy girl all day with the same vigor he would organizing a festival or managing her campaign.

"How was it, really?"

"Really? If I never have to watch _How a Bill Becomes a Law_ again I think I'd be okay."

She squeezes his hand a little tighter in gratitude, knowing he'll understand the meaning behind the gesture. At least they'd switched to Pixar by the time she got home. She thinks he fell back asleep when she hears a quiet "love you" somewhere near the crown of her head. She whispers it back, then from in front of her,

"Love you, Mommy."

She hugs her a little closer and whispers right in her hear,

"I love you and I like you."

And they fall asleep.

/

They don't usually do this on the couch. Okay well sometimes they're watching the news and it switches to sports and neither of them are that interested so she turns to him, kisses his stubble, he turns and kisses her lips, one thing leads to another and their pants are on the floor. But no, they don't usually do this here because they have a "perfectly good bed right upstairs" and "my backs not what it used to be", as Ben would tell her. Leslie being Leslie has her moments of impatience, and it really isn't that hard to convince Ben that _now _is the best and only time for things to happen.

Twisting her hips a little harder, she smiles at the groan Ben releases and thinks he really should agree with her more often.

He pulls her impossibly closer, and she lets him because she feels it too. That ache for him she can never quite shake no matter how many proposal she has to draft or how many citizen requests there are that day. It's in these busiest moments that she actually misses him the most sometimes. Causes her to call him home for lunch and push him onto the couch before he finishes his sentence because she really needs his mouth for other things right now.

Maybe it's the novelty of it all and it will wear out eventually. Not the sex, but the sex in their house, on their couch. The connection that was born the night they got married 6 months ago and hasn't frayed since.

She focuses her eyes back on his at the same time he looks up at her, his hand brushing against her perfectly, and their foreheads touching as she stills, breathes fully in finally.

She rests her forehead on his shoulder and sighs,  
"I missed you today."

His arms wrap around her back, palms pressing into skin, "I can tell."

She flicks his ear a little for that, sits up to brush his hair back from his face.  
After a few moments of contended silence, he looks at his watch and sighs, "I should really get back."

She tries not to, but she can't help the whiny tone in her voice, "No! noN yet, if anyone else asks just, just say you were with a potential donor."

He raises his eyebrows.

"I'll give you five bucks then it won't even be a lie!"

"Leslie.."

"Ugh, fine. Go back to work and leave your naked wife all alone on the couch. That makes sense."

He squeezes her hips and rests his forehead on her collarbone, groans into her skin. She thinks she's won him over when he flips her onto her back, kisses her, their chests pressed together. But then he lifts his head abruptly and says, "I'll see you at six."

"Ben!"

"Six thirty at the latest" he shouts as he walks toward the door to find his clothes. The view of his naked butt walking away almost makes it worth him leaving.

Almost.

/

She wants to tell him everything will be okay, but also doesn't. She's sure he knows. Besides, speaking those words probably won't change that look on his face: the ways his eyes are slit slightly, his frowning muscle working just a little bit harder. It even seems like his hair might be deflating.

As she slides her palm across his back, she notices how his eyes stay red. Resting her hand in the curve of his waist, he still looks so tired. He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly as she grips his hand, aches to mend his wounds but knows from experience there's nothing but time to clot, patch over, and scar him now. As a single tear slips out of his closed lids, she knows saying "it'll be okay" won't make it hurt less. Won't make him look more like the man who's been her partner, solid and unwavering, and less like the little boy burying his face in his hand. Won't allow him to talk to his mom again.

But an ache to protect and fix and soothe overtakes her other senses and she holds on tight. The hand on his back smoothes to his opposite ear, palms through the short hair their gently, until he's moving to press his face into her neck.

It's selfish to think, but it's almost too much.

She pulls him with her as she leans back where they sit on the couch. He's resting somewhat awkwardly between her body and the cushions, half covering her with his body, his cold nose pressing into her pulse as he tries to breathe evenly. She runs her palm in concentric circles under his t-shirt, the fingers of her left hand carding through his hair, pressing into his scalp. She hopes the warmth of her skin will ground him somehow, just like the way his always does for her. A flicker of doubt creeps up her spine as his fingers grip her hip so tightly, as he hides his face more in her neck, a muffled, quiet sob coming out of the back of his throat.

_It'll be okay,_ she wants to whisper, but doesn't. Doesn't want to trivialize his mother's death, but desperately wants to comfort him in his sadness the way he has for her countless times before. This time is different.

Her finger tips press into his flesh and she rests her lips on the top of his head.

_It's okay. You're okay. You're okay._

"Daddy?"

She turns at the tentative voice, somewhat startled she didn't hear her walk in. As she sees worry flicker across her daughter's face, she feels Ben take a deep breath, a real one this time, trying to steady himself before he faces her. He releases his grip somewhat, turns his head.

"Hi honey". His voice is still warbled.

Maggie must recognize the redness of Ben's eyes, the tear marks on his cheeks, because her eyes begin to well up, her face scrunching in that way that should not be cute but always is.

Ben lifts his head off her chest, hand reaching out to cup his daughter's shoulder. Leslie helps her climb on the edge of the couch and stretch her body out beside hers as Ben runs a comforting hand through her hair and tries to hush her tears from coming. She calms down enough to wrap her arm around Leslie's stomach and touch the stubble on her dad's chin with her little fingers as she says,

"You're sad?"

Ben nods his head ruefully, her hand moving with the nod.

She seems to think about it for a moment. Then Leslie feels her body pull away from where her hand is resting on her back, keeping her from falling off the couch. She inches over and places a peck on Ben's lips.

Returning her head to its place on Leslie's chest, her arms tucked into her side, she sighs,

"It's okay Daddy".

/

He scrambles for his phone when his alarm goes off at 4:30 am. It's Sunday and he really would rather sleep for at least 3 more hours but the possibility of being able to surprise Leslie is a little bit more important. Only a little bit though. He lifts his head and turns, but when he sees an empty space next to him he almost decides to go back to sleep. Really, he probably shouldn't have gone to sleep last night at all. Maybe one year he'll learn to do that, but this year he groggily makes his way downstairs to find his wife sitting on the couch in a sea of binders and highlighters.

"Hey."

"Hey! You're up early.. Oh I forgot- you were going to.."

"Yeah."

"And with the.."

"Yep."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Seriously. I mean they're not up yet so you could-" he points with his thumb towards the stairs.

"Oh! Yes. Yes okay good." She gets up quickly, stands still looking at the work she has fanned out on the couch around her. She peers up at him expectantly.

"Take it with you. We'll probably be a while."

She claps her hands together and he helps her gather her things to bring upstairs. Once they're done, she grabs the back of his neck with her free hand, pulls his lips to hers, the notebooks in their arms pressing together.

"Just make sure to hide these when we come in."

"Of course."

"And pretend like you're sleeping" he calls after her as she makes her way up the stairs.

"I know the drill."

It's 6:30 by the time they make their way up to the room again. (He may have napped on the couch for a bit in there. But who can blame him?). He's holding a plate of waffles in one and hand and the tiny hand of his son in the other. He lets Maggie carry the bowl of whipped cream up the stairs this year, although he stays one step behind her just in case. He purposefully steps on the creak he knows is in the second to last step and the one right before the hallway bends so that she'll hear them coming. When Maggie pushes the door open with her shoulder, he sees Leslie's head resting against the pillow, her eyes closed and a pen gripped in her hand.

As they come to her side of the bed, she still doesn't move. He thinks maybe she really did fall back asleep but then Maggie giggles a little with excitement and he sees her try to suppress a smile. She looks up at him with excited eyes and he nods his head.

She starts to climb on the bed with the bowl in her hands, whipped cream dangerously close to the edge, but he takes it from her as Leslie turns over, giving up her charade of slumber, and Maggie settles on her hips.

"Surprise! I made you whipped cream, Mommy."

She gasps excitedly and exclaims, "Wow, thank you" as she helps Robbie climb in next to her.

Ben hands her the plate as she sits up, each kid taking a place beside her on their bed. She cuts a bite and hands it to Robbie, while Maggie gets generous putting whipped cream on the waffle. He settles at the end of the bed just to watch and, if he's being honest, to just sit still for a little while. Then he remembers something.

"Hey," he taps both kids' feet with his fingers "don't you have something else to say."

His daughter looks at him for a second then turns to Leslie and says,

"Happy Mother's Day!"

Robbie tries to outshine his sister by shouting it a little more loudly right after her.

Leslie kisses them each on the cheek then looks at Ben.

"Thanks you guys."

So it definitely wasn't a surprise. But as Ben lies on his back across the foot of the bed and starts drifting off to the retelling of breakfast making, he decides maybe that's not the most important part anyway.

/


End file.
